The Case

Call me before the Bar of Justice,
Mr. Moon.
Weigh out the silver of my life,
a heavy coin for youth,
an enormous ingot for love,
a dime for patience.
But weigh it all out
and I will owe up to it.
The things I left behind without goodby,
the necklace of hope
I never put around a lover’s neck,
the words that scattered like mice
from those that needed them.
Weigh it out, Mr. Moon.
Let the chips fly where they may.

I have brought boxes of depositions
in my defense,
and a ring of pure poetry
I put on a girl’s hand.
I have studied my case
and conclude,
whatever you determine,
I am guilty of.
I had no talent for rules,
I preferred wrong as much as right,
and I never understood
the great goodness of the world,
its innocence and charm,
its naked openness.
I never understood
why it stood with me through all seasons,
told me in small ways and large
my life was worthwhile,
full of promise,
capable of storm
and the making of cups and bowls.

And I plead guilty that I said no prayers
for all the shapes and colors,
and immaculate faces of the world.
That I breathed and ate
and ran without thought,
until now when I wish to say thank you
and good-by,
my soul seeks to be worthy
of some measure of love,
some expression of gratitude.

So, Mr. Moon,
I plead my case,
looking out the window of my bedroom,
seeing all the children of the world
grownup and broken.
Love them as much as I was loved.
Tell our Creator,
I never left Him.
I ran away with a bushel of love,
and came back
with as much as I carried away.